


Unexpected Consquences

by appleschnapple



Category: Dragon Age
Genre: Kink Meme, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-15
Updated: 2011-05-15
Packaged: 2017-10-19 10:22:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/199804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/appleschnapple/pseuds/appleschnapple
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Hawke is a blood mage and Fenris and Anders disapprove.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unexpected Consquences

He hadn't meant for it to turn out this way. Such arguments were normally the vestiges of the desperate, but he really, truly hadn't. But for some reason the entirety of Kirkwall seemed to have come to expect the world of him, and he was never one for refusing to help. That's not to say he'd always accept the requests graciously – no, he had far too much fun indulging in sarcasm for that, but at the end of the day he would be there and he would _help_.

He was just one man, though. For all Fenris' angry rants of mages as some kind of demi-gods, capable of bending any and everything to their whims, Hawke knew his limitations in the same way he knew everyone's limitations on the battlefield – made sure Aveline hadn't bitten off more than she could chew, that Varric hadn't drawn unwanted attention, to call out to Merrill if she was exhausting more than she could afford. But Merrill. Oh, _Merrill_.

Merrill was a force to be reckoned with, to the point where Hawke felt almost embarrassed to be fighting by her side. He had little talent for healing or defensive spells – to the extent that Anders had soon given up in his attempts to teach him, saying instead that it was best Hawke just take him with them if Hawke thought they were likely to get injured – and it was very nearly humiliating to see Merrill standing surrounding by the bodies of whatever they'd been fighting, all bright-eyed innocence, as if she was unaware of the destruction she'd so carefully wrought.

So powerful, and for all the constant reminders that blood magic was not to be toyed with, Fenris and Anders both breathing down his neck about the subject – the one and only thing they were ever likely to agree on – Merrill was happy. She was in control. She'd made a deal with a demon and somehow come out victorious, and Hawke was not so proud as to deny being envious. What he could do with that kind of power, how many people he could save. The ends could justify the means.

And after all, it was amazing what people would overlook if they didn't want to see something. So he'd approached Merrill, shyly at first, and because it was _Merrill_ she'd welcomed him with open arms, was gracious enough not to mention his earlier flippancy (if not outright dislike) towards blood magic. She'd stilled his shaking hand as he poised the knife above it, helped him pierce the skin where it would bleed enough without risking any kind of serious damage.

For a while, he thought he'd somehow found a loophole. Blood magic without demons, just using his own life source as enough source of power – he'd resolved from the offset to never use anyone else's, because that was a slippery slope that scared him as much as being made tranquil. Either way, he'd lose himself, and could only hope that someone would be compassionate enough to put him out of his misery.

He would not become that person.

But Merrill had just looked at him, eyes wide and her distress clear. “Spirits can sense it,” she'd said, looking suddenly wise beyond her years, even sat cross-legged on the floor of her dusty little home. “You can't let your guard down, Hawke. The moment you do, they have you.”

So, he'd been careful. When he used blood magic, he always did it when everyone's attention was otherwise diverted, normally towards whatever had decided to attack them _this time_. While when it came down to it he could heal about as well as _Fenris_ could, he could normally focus just enough energy to close open, incriminating wounds on his hands, leaving him just as bloodied as everyone else. Occasionally this had involved running into the thick of battle against his better judgement (often with Anders screaming invectives at his back – which was fair enough, because Hawke guessed he was hardly making the man's life any easier), allowing himself to be soaked with blood – their enemies, their own, it was all the same – just so it didn't look too suspicious when he emerged from the fight as blood-stained as any of their more hands-on fighters. Anders would tut, Fenris would scowl and turn away, Aveline would just shake her head, but as long as they didn't notice the faint scars on his palms, they could all think of him as much of an idiot as they'd like. Maker, Hawke would happily encourage it. It was much better than the alternative.

One time he'd dreamt about what would happen; he'd woken screaming, still imagining Fenris' hand plunged deep into his chest, squeezing and tearing as his heart was ripped from within while the elf stared at him with undisguised loathing and disgust.

Not that the looks he normally got from Fenris were _that_ much better – it was only natural, if a little ironic. Both of them clung to their freedom like it was the only thing worth holding on to, but Fenris was eager to remind him that the circumstances were different, that a mage was always a threat to others and to itself ( _it_ , and Hawke's hands still balled into fists at the memory), look at Anders, look at Merrill. Look at what they'd allowed themselves to become.

He couldn't remember what he'd said, come to think of it. Probably something along the lines of 'not all mages are like that', because irony was apparently a dear friend of his. He'd been naïve back then. He'd believed he could do anything, gone about it all with a swagger that Isabela would have been proud of. (Or perhaps not. He didn't quite have the hips for it.) And then...

He hadn't been strong enough to save Carver in the Deep Roads. If he'd been better, been faster, not given those things a chance to get their foul hands on his brother, maybe he could have convinced himself he didn't need to turn to blood magic, that he was a talented enough mage as it was and happily set anyone alight who deigned to disagree.

He missed the days that he still thought that.

\--- 

There hadn't been any question about helping Fenris after the slavers attacked, and Hawke had conscientiously tried to hide his delight when Fenris gave him something close to a smile as he reassured him they'd go there straight away, be damned the fact that their current group was probably not a terribly balanced one. (Not that Hawke was one to carefully plan who he brought with him; it was often a case of dragging along whoever was free and/or in the mood to kill things. It was just a slightly unfortunate coincidence that when it came to confronting a maleficar, Hawke had brought along two of his fellow mages. Neither of whom, incidentally, Fenris could stand. On the other hand, Hawke suspected Fenris only put up with _him_ because Hawke kept him on his toes.)

“After all,” he'd said as they made their way along a winding path, one that seemed to be endeavouring to look _exactly the same_ as all the other winding paths outside of Kirkwall, “what would I do without my favourite glowy elf?”

That had most definitely been the wrong thing to say, judging by the way Fenris' expression had immediately soured and he'd stormed off ahead. The 'my' had probably been a mistake, if nothing else.

Still, in spite of Hawke's attempts to sabotage any relationship he could possibly have _ever_ , clearing the slaver den had gone about as well as could be expected. Practice made perfect, after all, and they'd all dealt with enough people with swords and occasionally staffs to make quick work of them, and Hawke hadn't even thought of drawing the small knife strapped to his belt. He'd somehow picked up a new servant – and Maker, he hadn't even wanted Bodahn, but he was enough of a realist to guess exactly how long the girl would last if left to her own devices. Robbed for all she was worth, if she was lucky. If she wasn't... well, that wasn't really worth thinking about. He'd also found an amulet that was most likely an affront to all that was holy and grounds to be run through on the spot, and Hawke really, _really_ hoped that Fenris hadn't seen him picking it up. It really wouldn't help his 'not all mages are magisters' argument, regardless of how compelling 'look at me: not a magister!' was.

And then, of course, everything had gone quite wrong. Hawke supposed he should have been warier about a magister's apprentice, particularly one that Fenris spoke about with hatred and badly hidden fear in equal measure, but he'd gotten cocky and then Hadriana was summoning shades and walking corpses because _that was his life_. They were rapidly being overwhelmed – Fenris trying furiously to work his way past or quite possibly _through_ a shade that was blocking Hadriana from him, Merrill raining fire down but looking increasingly unsteady on her feet, Anders clutching at his side as a burgundy stain blossomed there and trying desperately to keep the corpses at bay. Hawke's hand flew to his side almost without thinking, taking the knife and dragging it across the length of his arm because he knew this way going to require more than Merrill's carefully instructed shallow slashes.

It gave them the advantage they needed, a chain of lightning running through and leaving only Hadriana alive, lying in a crumpled and bleeding heap in the corner of the room. Fenris was looking between her and Hawke, as though trying to decide who he wanted to kill first, and Hawke was dimly aware of Anders behind him, eyes boring horrified into the back of his head. Everything was dim now. Everything felt muted, and distant, his blood still dripping onto the floor and pooling by his feet.

The ground coming up to meet him was a welcome relief.

\--- 

He awoke to find all three of them standing over him, even if it took a few moments for them to stop spinning. When they did, however, Hawke kind of wished they'd go back to doing it. He did _not_ want to see Anders' disappointment, Merrill's guilt, Fenris looking at him as if he was not only as bad as the magisters, he was _worse_ for ever pretending otherwise.

“What happened to Hadriana?” he asked. If Fenris was going to kill him now, Hawke would like to at least think it hadn't been in vain. (He also hoped that the others wouldn't try to intervene – Merrill would certainly try, and Anders... Anders seemed to think Hawke was a better person than he was. Maybe this would have disillusioned him. He'd healed Hawke though, judging by the way he _hadn't_ bled out over the floor.)

“Dead,” Fenris spat, and Hawke allowed himself a fraction of a nod. That was good. Hawke would never pretend to be above revenge – Maker help Bartrand if Hawke ever found him – and while he didn't know if this would be the catharsis Fenris needed or just make matters worse, he'd never tell Fenris he was wrong to do so.

Assuming he got the opportunity. He tensed up as Fenris' eyes narrowed, closed his eyes as he prepared for a death blow that didn't come. Instead, Fenris growled and stormed away, and much as Hawke was grateful to _not be dead_ , he wouldn't deny that _that_ hurt a little too. They'd been making such progress, too.

He was glad that Merrill and Anders refrained from talking, even if it was clear that they both desperately wanted to, and they'd nearly reached Kirkwall proper before Anders spoke up.

“Just please tell me you haven't made any deals with a demon,” he said quietly, his arms held stiffly by his side as though fighting the urge to grab Hawke and shake him. Well, at least Hawke hadn't disappointed him there.

“I taught him,” Merrill replied before Hawke had the chance to. “No demons. Just the magic, like any other.”

Anders just scoffed, and the rest of the journey was made in silence.

\--- 

Hawke had not been expecting Fenris to be waiting for him at his house that evening, and yet some small part of him was not the least bit surprised. He only hoped that Fenris hadn't decided that yes, he really should have killed Hawke then and there, because it was one thing to die, and quite another dying in your home and leaving your poor mother to find the body.

“I should have known the power would be too much for you to resist,” Fenris murmured, his resigned tone coloured with venom. “And yet I'd somehow convinced myself you were better than that.”

Hawke tried to keep his voice steady. “Better than _what_?”

Fenris' lip curled. “The magisters. Blood mages. Those that turn to demons in order to exert their power over others, and the power is never enough.”

“So, what, I use my _own_ blood to save our lives and suddenly I'm just as bad as Danarius?”

“What will happen when your own blood isn't enough?” Fenris snapped, taking a step forward and closing the gap between them. “Will you skip straight to sacrificing innocents, or will you convince yourself that you're still better than that?” Another step, and now there was only a matter of inches between them. “Maybe the abomination will let you bleed him dry if you can convince him it's for the greater good of his cause.”

Hawke flinched, the image of Anders lying drained and lifeless far too clear in his mind. “I wouldn't,” he said desperately, “Fenris, you _know_ \--”

“I know you as well as I know any other mage, _maleficar_.” Fenris grabbed the front of his shirt, clawed gauntlets tearing holes. “I know exactly what you're capable of.”

Hawke opened his mouth to protest – though to protest _what_ , he wasn't sure – and was interrupted by the sound of knocking at the door.

“Leave it,” Fenris told him, but the knocking persisted and grew louder, and over his time in Kirkwall Hawke had learned how to tell the difference between an important knock and an unimportant one, and the former usually meant someone's life was at risk. He tugged away from Fenris, who did, if not actively _let go_ , at least relinquished his grip enough for Hawke to get away and open the door.

Anders was standing there, looking out of place as ever in his battered coat and (frankly ridiculous) pauldrons in the middle of Hightown. From what Hawke could make out of his face in the dark, Anders' disappointment seemed to have ebbed away, leaving only raw and open concern that somehow made Hawke feel _worse_.

“Hawke,” he said lowly, as though expecting eavesdroppers even when the courtyard was all but deserted, “we need to talk.”

From behind him, Fenris gave a derisive snort. “Of course. Should I expect the witch next?”

Anders' eyes narrowed as his turned his gaze sharply to beyond Hawke's shoulder. “What's he...” A thought seemed to strike him, and he stepped inside, Hawke shifting to one side automatically to let him past. “Don't you _dare_ hurt him,” he hissed at Fenris, and Hawke wasn't sure if he was imagining the faint echoes of Justice beneath Anders' normal voice. If he wasn't... well, it was somewhat comforting to have a Fade spirit on his side. He just hoped it wouldn't end as badly as it had that _last_ time Justice had come out.

“You leap to his defence even now,” growled Fenris, and Hawke hastily closed the door and tried to position himself between the two. On the other hand, acting as a human shield may not be as effective as it once had been. It was entirely possible Fenris would just see it as an opportunity to kill two birds with one stone. So to speak. “And here I thought blood magic was the one area that you and I saw eye to eye on.”

“Blood magic _is_ wrong,” Anders said, eyes flickering over to Hawke. “It's far too easy to lose yourself.”

“And you know all about that,” Fenris sneered. To Hawke's surprise, Anders didn't contend the point, instead tilting his head slightly in agreement. The candlelight caught his face as he did so, casting shadows across his face that emphasised the faint lines by his eyes, his obvious exhaustion. Hawke had to turn away, swallowing.

“Merrill's right,” he said at last, before the tension reached breaking point, “blood magic is just another school, like any other. Obviously you need to be careful, but that's true for all mages. _You_ know that,” directed at Anders, but the other mage just looked at him pityingly.

“In the Circle, a friend of mine found a book. It should have been restricted – it should have been thrown away, but for some reason it got mixed up in the with the books on Entropy. She...” Anders seemed suddenly very interested in his feet, “said that it couldn't be that dangerous, because she wasn't making any deals with demons. A few days later...” Anders' face hardened, and he looked up. “It was the first time I saw an abomination.”

“But yes,” Fenris interjected, his voice laden with sarcasm, “mages should certainly be left to their own devices.”

Hawke could see the warning signs: Anders' hands clenched tightly and his entire body shaking with the strain, and put a hand on Anders' shoulder, noting with satisfaction that at least some of the tension seemed to flood out.

“It's not going to happen to me,” he said, not sure who exactly he was reassuring, and trying to put into words why just _stopping_ wasn't an option, why it was the only reason he and the others hadn't been killed a dozen times over on whatever stupid task they'd taken upon themselves to do. “I'm sorry,” he offered instead. “I'm just... not strong enough, without it.”

He wasn't sure _what_ about that had been so upsetting to Fenris, or even if all of it had, but either way Hawke found himself slammed up against the wall, Anders yelping and trying to push Fenris off him, and then...

Well, Hawke was never much one for plans, and it was probably only in that very moment that what he did seemed like a good idea – pushing his lips against Fenris' open mouth, exploring it, ignoring Anders' noise of surprise before dragging _him_ in for a kiss too. He pulled away and saw them both standing with matching expressions of bewilderment. Really, when the two members of his merry band of misfits with the most _tentative_ grasp of sanity were looking at him as though he were insane, it really should have been cause to evaluate his life choices up until that point.

It _shouldn't_ have been cause to grin at them both and murmur, “Upstairs?”

Still, it wasn't as though either of them protested.

\--- 

Fenris's kiss was possessive; all hard pressure against his mouth and hands gripping him firmly enough to hurt. Anders' felt more like he was wanting to _be_ possessed, moaning desperate, silent promises underneath him. Fenris was leading him, Anders was following. There was probably something deep and meaningful about that, and Hawke promised he'd be introspective and thoughtful in the morning because in the mean time he was somewhat _pre-occupied_.

Getting undressed was a little frustrating in of itself – Hawke was standing naked in the middle of his room while Anders was still fiddling with his coat and Fenris had only removed the first layer of his armour. So he decided to help.

“Maker's breath,” he growled, only a few moments later, fingers caught up in Anders' belt, “is this some kind of chastity device? If so, can I give it to Sebastian?”

Fenris grunted irritably, stepped over to where they were both standing and, with far more strength than a man of his build really should have possessed, tore the possibly-a-chastity-device in question.

“Hey!”

“I'll buy you a new one,” Hawke said soothingly, mentally noting to get one that came off a little easier. Just in case. With the offending article dealt with, the remaining clothes came off with far less fuss and Hawke was suddenly struck with the dawning realisation that he had two attractive and equally importantly _naked_ men in his room and he didn't actually _know_ what to do with them. Two people should be intuitive enough, but three...

Luckily, it seemed Anders at least was familiar with this kind of situation – and Hawke added to his mental note to ask him about this later. Anders sank to his knees and trailed kisses along Hawke's thighs before taking Hawke into his mouth, achingly slow and the faintest scrape of teeth along the head, one hand still lovingly stroking his bare leg, leaving Hawke trembling under his ministrations. It wasn't his _first_ time – a few visits to the Rose had taken care of that – but there was something different about this, the way Anders' eyes were dark with lust and bright with _adoration_. He'd almost forgotten Fenris was there, and was brought back with a sharp reminder as Fenris bit hard into his shoulder.

“Ow!” And yes, it _had_ hurt, but the pain mixed with desire and became pleasurable.

“I do not appreciate,” another bite, but lighter this time, “being _ignored_.”

“My apologies,” he said, taking Fenris' cock into his hand and attempting a few tentative and clumsy strokes. _This_ he'd only ever done by himself, but judging from the low groan Fenris let out as he let his grip get firmer and his strokes quicker, Fenris was, at the very least, receptive. Anders, for his part, seemed to take this as a challenge and began humming around him, the faint vibrations sending blood rushing downwards and making his hips buck. Anders gently pushed them down with one hand, his thumb gently tracing up and down the length of the bone. Fenris growled lowly and ran his hands across Hawke's chest, wandering across muscles that fluttered with each breath, and Hawke took in the elf's body in kind. A slender frame, but all strong lines and almost radiating power with even the slightest movement, tattoos curving every muscle.

“You're beautiful,” he whispered, and then added hastily, because Anders' eyes had suddenly filled with hurt and _worse_ , resigned acceptance, “both of you.” His hand on Fenris' shaft slowed, and he let his thumb follow the tattoos that ran across it.

A mistake, as it turned out.

He stumbled back with the force of the back of Fenris' hand against his cheek, could taste blood where his teeth bit down. In a flash, Anders had stood up and the air seemed to crackle with raw arcane energy, while Fenris was staring down at his own hands as though they belonged to someone else.

“You--” Anders yelled, but Hawke cut him off as a raised a hand that was only _slightly_ shaking.

“It's fine,” he said calmly, and then tilted Fenris' head up gently, forcing him to look at him. “It's _fine_ ,” he repeated. “In fact...” The slap had done nothing to his arousal. Quite the opposite, it seemed. “Do it again. Please.”

Unsurprisingly, both men looked at him as though he were completely mad. Then Anders sighed, and lifted his own hand to Hawke's cheek, illuminating it with the familiar glow of healing magic – only to have his hand knocked aside by Fenris.

“No magic,” Fenris said gruffly, his eyes boring into Hawke's for confirmation that this was acceptable.

Hawke nodded. “No magic,” he agreed before taking them both by the arm and dragging them over to his bed.

\--- 

Once again, it seemed, Hawke had gotten ahead of himself. The bed really wasn't big enough for three men to _do_ anything in, short of laying there and spooning – and while that was a very nice if unrealistic thought about what they could do afterwards, it didn't really help in the mean time. He coughed, hoping Anders would pick up on the hint.

“Do you have any oil?” Anders asked finally, and Hawke blinked. Oh, yes. That was rather important, wasn't it? He nodded and fumbled around in a drawer before pulling out a small glass bottle – only realising after that he'd probably come across as a little too eager. Anders just smiled encouragingly, but Fenris was eyeing it suspiciously. Hawke passed the bottle over to him.

“Entirely non-magical,” he promised. “I can almost _guarantee_ you won't turn into a frog afterwards.” He got a scowl in response and another bite on his shoulder for his troubles, and by now he was making quite a collection.

“You'd think,” said Anders drily, “that a man about to share a bed with _two mages_ would try and get over the magic thing.”

“I'm not sharing a bed with two mages,” Fenris shot back scathingly, “I'm sharing a bed with Hawke.” As if to make his point, he wrapped an arm possessively around Hawke's waist, pressing his body against Hawke's back. Hawke could _feel_ Fenris's erection behind him, and let out a shiver that had nothing to do with the cold. “... You just happen to be present.”

“Speaking of _sharing beds_...”

Anders and Fenris looked at him expectantly. Hawke coughed again, and Anders finally seemed to understand.

“I suppose I should be flattered,” he grumbled before pouncing, rubbing himself against Hawke while to his side Fenris attempted to stake his claim with nails and teeth and, incongruously, kisses on his skin, the _delicious_ contrast of Anders' gentle, teasing touch and and Fenris's, clearly meant for punishment as much as pleasure. “You'll take him,” he told Fenris in a low voice, and for once it seemed Fenris was not even going to try to argue, “and he'll take me.” Hawke let out an unbidden shudder, felt Anders' smirk as the man nuzzled himself against his neck. “I'll prepare you.”

The oil was warm to the touch – Hawke suspected Anders had ignored Fenris's 'no magic' rule in order to heat it, and Hawke writhed as slick fingers worked at his entrance while Fenris claimed his mouth, mixed with whispers in Arcanum by his ear, hot and breathy. Hawke didn't know what he was saying and didn't care; the noises alone were making him come undone. He whined slightly as Anders withdrew his fingers, and felt Fenris's breath hitch as Anders leaned across to rub the remaining oil on _him_.

“I don't recall giving you permission to touch me.”

“I don't recall asking.”

“Gentlemen, please,” Hawke said agitatedly and between deep breaths, because _Maker_ , were neither of them aching for release? It would be embarrassing if he was the only one. “If we could return to the matter at hand...”

Anders smirked, and returned his attention to Fenris while tweaking one of Hawke's nipples and apparently taking delight in the resultant moan. “Take him. _Slowly_.”

And Hawke didn't know if that was for his benefit or to torture him further as Fenris cautiously pushed into him and felt the rapid beat of the elf's heart against his back. Anders meanwhile seemed to be taking care of himself, pressing fingers shiny with oil into himself and rocking wantonly with each motion, leaving his face flushed and _Hawke's_ throat drier than it had ever been before. Anders, for his part, seemed to notice and still with that same smirk that Anders should use more often, _dear Maker_ , began to rub oil onto Hawke's cock in a far more calculated manner than he had for Fenris.

“Anders, Fenris,” Hawke panted, because they were the only words that made sense right now, as if they were the only real and tangible things in the world, “ _please_.”

Fenris let out a guttural groan and began to rock his hips, Hawke's own following suit as Anders lowered himself onto Hawke. So tight, so full, so perfect in every way, with Fenris's arms splayed across the front of his chest, his nails leaving faint pink grooves on his skin, with Anders' head leant back and laying kisses along Hawke's jaw.

Fenris's pace quickened, enough to hurt now, and Anders growled, “You're not to hurt him,” even as he rocked in tandem with each movement. Hawke appreciated the concern, but once again he found there was something even more pleasurable to be found in the pain, laying a palm across Anders' chest to calm him; just above his heart, and laid the other arm over Fenris's.

“It's fine,” he whispered, even as Fenris' nails dug in deep enough to draw blood, and _that_ was enough to send him over the edge and come with a long, shuddering breath, both Fenris and Anders following soon after, all of them panting and sweaty from the exertion.

 _Mine_ , he thought to himself as Anders pressed a gentle kiss against his lips, his forehead. _Yours_ , as Fenris all but pushed the mage aside and took Hawke's mouth for himself, fierce and clumsy and possessive.

\--- 

He wasn't sure exactly when he'd drifted off to sleep, but he was stirred by the sounds of Fenris getting dressed. Anders' arm was still wrapped tightly around his waist, eyes closed and face uncharacteristically peaceful in sleep.

“Was it that bad?”

“Oh, you're...” Fenris said distractedly, before shaking his head. “I'm sorry, it's not... it was fine.”

 _Huh_. Maybe it was simply Hawke's inexperience showing, but for some reason he'd rank that night as slightly above 'fine'. 'Fine' was walking down Lowtown at night without getting ambushed by men with dogs. This had been at _least_ ten times better than that. Luckily, it seemed that Fenris could read this across his face.

“No. That is insufficient. It was...” Fenris paused, and spared a flickering glance towards Anders, still fast asleep, “better than anything I could have dreamed. Strange as that is.”

“It _is_ a lot to take in,” said Hawke agreeably, trying to disguise his mounting panic. Fenris had the look about him of a spooked animal about to flee, and Hawke _really_ didn't know he was supposed to do in this instance. He doubted this had made it into any of the etiquette books Mother oh-so-subtly left lying around.

“It's not that. I began to remember. My life before. Just flashes... It's too much. This is too fast. I cannot... do this.”

 _Nor can you speak in sentences longer than four words, it seems_ , Hawke thought, disentangling himself from Anders and getting out of bed.

“We can... work through this,” he said cautiously, inching closer to where Fenris was standing.

“I'm sorry. I feel like such a fool.”

And Hawke's heart was _hurting_ in a way that wasn't remotely fun, so he was quite sure he hadn't been the one who had snorted.

“Coward,” came Anders' voice from beneath the bed sheets.

“You know nothing, _mage_ ,” Fenris snapped, and Hawke supposed that really, it had been too much to hope for that something as minor as _sleeping together_ would have eased tensions between the two. “Don't talk about things you don't understand.”

Anders stretched and propped himself up on his elbows, giving Fenris a knowing look. “You're overwhelmed with feelings, and it's easier to run away than deal with them,” he recited in bored tones.

“Speaking from experience?” Hawke asked quietly. Anders gave the briefest of nods.

“It... It's not,” Fenris began, before shaking his head fiercely. “We are nothing alike.”

“No,” said Anders, still in that same bored voice, “I grew up.”

There was a moment of terse silence, in which Hawke was seriously considering what he'd do if the pair ended up killing each other. Maybe Isabela could help him dispose of the bodies...

“So, you're happy to admit your _feelings_?”

Anders nodded. “I love him.”

Fenris looked taken aback, as though he had not expected Anders to be so open. Frankly, Hawke felt the same way – of course he'd _suspected_ , and if he gave himself time to evaluate his own terribly confused feelings, he probably reciprocated. That was something of a surprise, especially since he was also _reasonably_ sure he loved Fenris, too.

Fenris seemed to hesitate, and Anders jumped at the opportunity. “Of course,” he carried on scathingly, “you can't even imagine what that is.”

With a noise of incoherent rage Fenris began to advance on Anders, who for his part either wasn't afraid or was a far better actor than Hawke gave him credit for.

“You can't even admit it,” said Anders. “Pathetic.”

“Stop it,” Hawke said sharply, “both of you.” He took a deep breath, and wondered when exactly this had become so _complicated_. “I, uh,” his voice cracked slightly and he swallowed, “appear to have, er, _feelings_ for both of you. Please, _please_ don't take it upon yourselves to try and eliminate the competition.” As if on cue, the competition glared at each other.

Then, bizarrely, Anders let out a low chuckle. “All I came here for was to try and persuade you to stop using blood magic.”

“And I, as well,” Fenris said slowly. His eyes narrowed with suspicion. “This isn't... this wasn't the result of--”

“Andraste's tits, _no_ ,” Hawke replied, horrified. “I'd never – I wouldn't...”

“I'd have sensed it if it was,” Anders pointed out, and Hawke let out a sigh of relief. If either of them thought he'd ever... it was not something he wanted to think about. “Don't think I'm going to let the blood magic thing slide, though.”

“Nor me,” added Fenris.

“Well then,” Hawke said, armed with his most winning smile and hoping desperately he wasn't about to get punched in it, “I encourage both of you to continue to make your case. I think last night was an excellent starting point.”

And, much to his _utter_ delight, neither man argued.

\--- 

It had been the first time she'd seen Hawke since the incident in the slaver den, and she let out a quiet gasp at the sight of him. Bruises littered his bare arms and along his neck, and she thought she got a glimpse of a _bite_ on his ear. In spite of all this, he beamed at her and gave a friendly wave.

“Oh, lethallin,” she murmured, eyes threatening to tear up at just how _brave_ he was being. “Was Fenris very angry?”

“Furious.” He sounded oddly cheerful about that. She carefully touched one of the exposed bruises.

“And Anders refused to heal you? That seems unlike him.”

“Oh, he wanted to,” Hawke said brightly, “but Fenris ordered him not to.”

Merrill's brow crinkled. In her experience, Fenris telling Anders not to do something generally had the opposite effect. “And you're... all right?”

Hawke's grin broadened, and he spread his arms wide. “Merrill, my life is sunshine and daisies.”

She was getting more and more concerned now, because it was an overcast day and the only green thing to be found in the alienage was the Vhenadahl. “Hawke...”

“Metaphor, Merrill.”

“Oh.”

**Author's Note:**

> So, I've only just noticed there's a tag for kink meme. This makes my life so much less awkward then having to go "I'd just like to point out that I take all my inspiration from kink meme prompts" in every summary.


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